Trapped
by moodyaura
Summary: One-shot. When Rhonda tries to out smart Harold, the two of them end up stuck in the treehouse for a night. Rhonda blames Harold. Harold blames the rabid raccoons and cooties.


I decided to republish the Hey Arnold one shots I had separately instead. This is one of them.

003. _"If you were a tree, and I were a squirrel, I'd store my nuts in your hole."_

* * *

It started because of a tree house. That, and the infamous gender debate. But mostly the tree house. Located in a secluded area in the park, the house stood about ten feet above ground, built from solid wood and hard labor. It included a secluded club that was of the boys, by the boys, and for the boys. However, due to an accident, the ladder that connected the tree house to the ground broke, never to be rebuilt again. The boys (mainly consisting of the P.S. 118 fourth grade crew) looked to find a replacement meeting place. Eventually, the tree house was forgotten. Until now.

Inside the tree house sat two children, both sitting in opposite corners on the wooden floor. One, a dark-haired girl, had her arms crossed, head raised in a haughty manner. The other was a fairly chubby boy. He pouted like his mother had scolded him. "Face it, Harold," the girl said, smirking, "Girls can do anything boys can. I just proved it." A thick finger was pointed at her face.

"No! You- you cheated!" Harold accused, jabbing it at her face. There was absolutely no way a girl could have possibly done what he had. Climbing up the broken and sharp ladder was no easy task for the tubby boy, who managed to do it in the course of a week or so. As for Rhonda, who he arrogantly presented the challenge to, did it in one swift move with her skinny body. It really wasn't fair at all. "I want a rematch!"

Rhonda resisted the urge to roll her eyes. For some reason, she always wanted to do that when she was around boys…or Harold. "All right, then. I'll give you a rematch. But make it quick," she said crossly. She flicked her hair with impatience. "I have somewhere important to go." She emphasized the word important, just to show how much more…well…_important_ it was than being here. What made her even take up Harold's idea was even foreign to her. She would never, ever think of getting her new, red Louie Button shirt dirty.

On the other side of the tree house, Harold twittered nervously, grabbing at his blue cap in obvious anxiety. Fortunately for him, Rhonda was too busy checking for any blemishes on her shirt to see his trepidation. "D-down?" he asked. Flicking a piece of lint off in repulsion, the princess glowered at him from the corner of her eyes.

"You do know how to get down, right?" Her voice had a menacing edge to it. Harold whimpered to himself, backing up into the tree house wall. "If I don't get down in," she flicked her wrist, revealing a sleek, silver watch, "Twenty minutes, I'm going to miss my fashion appointment." Rhonda cocked her head at him. Her mouth was pressed to a thin line. "Well, get on with it."

There was the loud chatter of squirrels outside the window in a nearby tree. Harold peeked outside as he watched two of them fight and chase each other over an acorn. He hadn't heard a work after her first question as the critters began to occupy his attention. One of the squirrels came out as victorious, and began to crack the nut furiously, shoving it into its mouth hungrily. "Ughh," he groaned. He placed a hand over his belly. "I'm hungry." In all honesty, Harold was. After all, he only ate two school lunches today- that wasn't enough for a growing boy like him.

A disgusted look crossed Rhonda's face. "What do I look like, a refrigerator? Just get me down from here!" Harold's nodded back and forth, as if in a daze. All he saw were acorns floating around him. Suddenly, he noticed Rhonda, who, for some reason, had chicken legs for arms. Her voice retreated into his mind: "If you get me down from here, you can have all the food you want."

He straightened immediately. "Really, Rhonda? You better not be lying or else I'll- I'll, uhh-" He tapped a finger on his chin, trying to remember the phrase he always used. "Oh yeah!" he said, brightening. He made a fist and slammed it into his opened palm, "OR I'LL POUND YA!"

Unfazed, Rhonda rolled her eyes. "Harold, you never hit girls. Ever. And besides," she sneered, "You can't pound me. I have cooties." She made quotation marks with her fingers at the last word, eyes gleaming mockingly. What a ridiculous notion. Cooties? Whoever heard of something as stupid as that? And, for some bizarre reason, all the boys seem to think girls have it.

Harold shouted from fright. "I- I KNEW IT!" he cried, crawling back into a corner, "YOU HAVE COOTIES! MOMMY! I DON'T WANNA DIEEEEE!" She was seriously repressing the urge to give Harold a nice, big slap on the face. Firstly, he was out of reach for her to do so, so that was a no-go. And second, she had no idea where his cheek could have been, what icky boy stuff it was covered in_. Like- like, _she thought, cringing, _mud. Or dirt. Or rolling around with bugs or something- EW!_

But honestly, boys really were stupid. Rhonda made a mental note to add this to her and Nadine's list of Why Boys Are Weirdlist. "Harold, you idiot, I was joking. Now get me down from here." She looked back at her watch again. She was definitely going to be late for her appointment. Rhonda frowned in disappointment. She was suppose to be seeing the new dresses from her mother's upcoming fall line, one of them which was going to be hers for the upcoming school dance.

The bald boy peeked at her from his crouched position. He felt rolls of perspiration go down his cheek at her demand. Going up was one thing, but going down was a whole other story. Having a slight, SLIGHT, not major, not wet your pants till you cry, fear of heights made it a tad bit difficult. And well, the thought of going down a ten-foot broken ladder was rather apprehensive for Harold. Not that he hasn't tried it before, unless you count the times his father tried- hint, tried- to catch him before replacing himself with a trampoline. However, now, there was no nearly broken back father or mangled trampoline to catch him if he jumped.

"Uhh, well," he said, darting his eyes right to left. Rhonda could never know that he was scared of something like that. He wasn't chicken! "You- you can't!" The girl's eyes narrowed, raising one, elegant brow, as if daring him to continue. Quickly, Harold searched his mind of a decent excuse to keep her from going down. "Y-you can't because there's a-…a RABID DOG DOWN THERE!" Harold nodded, smiling proudly at his reply Since girls were so scared of EVERYTHING, there was no way Rhonda would want to go down. And there was nothing scarier than a rabid dog. Except Rhonda, when she was mad. That was equally, if not more, scary. And maybe that weird thing above Helga's eyes- speaking of which, what the heck was what?

Harold's ponderings were distracted as a strange smile came upon Rhonda's face. It looked as if she were in immense pain, or was planning to hurt someone. Probably the latter of the two, he thought fearfully. Slowly, Rhonda walked over to where he was, and grabbed his arm. "Harold," she said sweetly. He felt as if all the blood was being squeezed out of his arm. There was a high probability that his arm would explode, and his parents would have to buy him a robotic arm that would shoot fireballs at people. Suddenly, the idea of losing his arm didn't seem so bad. "If I don't get down this _instant_, something very, very bad is going to happen. To you."

The boy struggled wildly to get of Rhonda's grip, waving her arm off. Before she could make his arm lose circulation again, he scooted into another corner. "B-b-but-! BUT I DON'T KNOW HOW!" he wailed, hiding himself behind his arms, one of which was fading from blue to its normal color. "I DON'T WANNA DIE RHONDA! DON'T KILL ME!"

At these words, Rhonda shrieked, grabbing Harold by his shoulders. "What do you mean you don't know how?" she screamed, shaking him between each word. She was going to kill him if it was the last thing she did.

"I-I-I-I-I- D-D-D-DON'T KN-KN-KNOW HOW T-TO GET D-D-D-DOOOOWN," Harold cried, his voice distorted from Rhonda's violent shaking. Her grip grew tighter on him. He would have been positive Rhonda was a guy with that brute strength of hers if her face didn't look as pretty as she snarled at him. Suddenly, he grabbed at his head. "AHHHH! EWWWWW!" he shouted.

Rhonda let go of his arms, startled. "What's wrong?" she asked. The sudden outburst worried her. Perhaps the boy had gone mental or something. Harold looked at her with a horrified expression on his face. She grew self-conscious of herself. 'What? Do I have something in my hair?" she asked, running her fingers through to check for anything. Nothing, she confirmed. It was silky smooth.

"J-just stay away from me!" Harold demanded, pointing a shaky finger at her. "I don't want your cooties!" Yes, he thought, it was all the cooties fault for making him think such weird thoughts. It was incredulous to think that Harold alone would conjure up that opinion of Rhonda. Said girl, on the other hand, sighed. Maybe, she mused, it was the guys that had cooties since they were the ones that were just so weird. Tired from all the shouting, Rhonda sat down in a nearby corner, hugging her knees with her arms. It was getting dark out, and the tree house was filled with the brilliant light of the sunset, causing both children to wonder just how long they were stuck (and going to be stuck) in here. Red and orange light painted the children's faces as they both watched the sun go down in silence.

She wondered if her parents would call the police to find her- perhaps then she could be rescued from this dilemma. No, Rhonda thought glumly, Mommy and Daddy have a social event tonight. They probably won't even notice that she was missing until the morning, or even later. Sadly, she wished her parents would have been home tonight. But even then, with her father's busy job as a CEO and her mother's booming fashion line, they would have no time for her.

Harold watched as the dark-haired girl frowned to herself. Girls had such strange, pretty faces. He shook his head, muttering to himself, "Girls are ugly. Stupid. Gross. Icky. Not pretty. Never." His mind drifted off to dinner as his stomach growled. Scowling, he realized that he was going to miss the roast chicken his mother promised to cook. As for going missing, Harold wondered at what his parents might do. He had never been out this late alone before. His stomach grumbled loudly. _Man, this sucks_, Harold thought, _I should have never brought Rhonda here if I was gonna miss the roast._

It was completely dark now; the tree house looked like a collection of black blobs. A strange noise was picked up by Harold's ear. Cautiously, he leaned closer to the source of the noise, which came from the open doorway. There was a rapid scratching, the sound of claws against tree bark, followed by some low growls. "AHH!" Harold shouted. This spurred the creature to screech loudly. Rhonda crawled over to him, curious.

"What's wrong?" she asked. He pointed a shaking finger at the opening.

"I TOLD YOU THER WAS A RABID DOG DOWN THERE!" he shouted, horrified. Harold hid himself in his arms, forgetting that what he said before had been a lie. Rhonda groaned. How pathetic could you get?

"Harold, don't be ridiculous," she said, leaning over the edge, "There's nothing down th- AUGH!" Rhonda screamed in disgust. She had come face to face with a creature with bright, glowing eyes. It stared at her, unmoving. "HAROLD! DO SOMETHING!" she shrieked. She scampered away from the opening, pressing herself flat on the wall, panting. Every nerve in Rhonda's body tingled with repulsion as she shook with fear.

Although Harold himself was equally, if not more, scared, his father had told him that men had to be strong. Especially in the presence of women, since they were so delicate. This in turn caused his mother to hit his father (accidentally) with a frying pan, knocking him unconscious, but that was another story. Taking up a brave face, Harold rolled up his sleeves, heaving his arms. He stormed up to it. "Hey, you!" Harold gave the creature a mean look. It didn't move. "You better get outta here, or IMMA POUND YA! YOU GOT THAT YOU UGLY FUZZBALL?" The creature stood still, its eyes staring boldly into Harold's. Angry, he jumped at it threateningly, causing it to scramble down. It was then Harold noticed the door. Closing it with a satisfied slam, he turned smugly to Rhonda and said, "Showed him, eh?"

Rhonda whimpered as she frantically brushed her clothes with her hands. "I was that close to a raccoon! Ew!" she cried, "Who knows what it did to me?" The blue-capped boy pondered on her words for a moment, listening to her wails as if they triggered thought.

"Hey!" Harold said, brightening, "I know what it did to you!" Rhonda eyed him like a doctor who was going to save her from death. "It got rid of your cooties!"

The girl faltered. "Got rid…of my cooties?"

"Yeah! So now, I don't have to go all EWWW and run away from you! You're cured!"

Rhonda would have liked to known what went through Harold's (empty) head, but brushed the matter off. "All right then," she said, placing her hands on her hips, "What do you think we should do now that I'm cured?" She made quotation marks with her fingers on the last word.

"I don't know Rhonda," Harold shrugged, "What do you wanna do?" Inspired by his question, the black-haired girl clasped her hands together and began to talk freely on fashion. Harold nodded absently as he watched Rhonda's pretty face talk throughout the night.

The next morning, Rhonda Lloyd arrived fashionably late to school, primped and pampered. Not a hair or thread was out of place of perfection on her outfit. Shortly after her, Harold came in, also in fresh clothes but with a bit of sauce around his mouth. Earlier before school, Mr. Johannssen had found the both of them stuck together in the tree house. Through a course of events during the night, Rhonda had somehow slept on Harold's shoulder. It was an event she would tell no one. Except maybe Nadine. Their parents' worries and their tardiness to school were covered up by the policeman, who promised to keep last night's events a secret.

Rhonda cringed at the dirty sight of the boy. She pointed to the corner of her mouth, and then made a wiping motion with her hands. Quickly, Harold followed her instruction. Mr. Simmons urged the two to sit as he proceeded with class. "Hey Harold, Rhonda," Sid began quietly, eyeing the teacher as he wrote on the board, "Why are you guys late?" The dark-haired girl sat smoothly in her seat as Harold took his in front of her. Sid was situated next to them, on their left.

"We were helping Mr. Johannssen," Rhonda said quickly. Harold opened his mouth to protest before she kicked his chair roughly. Getting the hint, he nodded. Sid made a face of repulsion.

"With a girl?" he asked, more to Harold than Rhonda. He accentuated the last word as if it were something disgusting.

"Yeah with a girl!" Harold growled, "You got a problem with that?" Sid shook his head. "And besides, she got cured." He jabbed a finger at Rhonda. "The rabid dogs did their thing." Sid nodded as if it all made sense now.

"Sorry, Rhonda. Didn't know you were healed. But we're cool, right?" Hesitantly, she nodded, eyeing the two of them oddly. Sid held his fist up, which she awkwardly punched. Rhonda looked away, turning to see what Nadine was doing. Her best friend stared at the boys with a similar look to hers. The two girls caught each other's gaze and rolled their eyes at each other. Only one thought went through each girl's minds: boys are_ SOOOO_ weird.

I guess, this is like Harold admitting (and accepting) to his feelings for Rhonda. In his own way. That's how I feel about this chapter.

Thank you Zakuro Haruno, Phantom Amethyst, acosta perez jose ramiro, and Readrbug21 for reviewing this story! Your comments are really appreciated, so thank you so much for taking your time to review.

~loooooooove, moodyaura.

p.s. **REVIEW!** they feed my soul and fill me with happiness. :3


End file.
